


calm before the storm/boy after the war

by cloudtalking



Category: Green Creek Series - T.J. Klune
Genre: Character Study, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-01 23:54:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudtalking/pseuds/cloudtalking
Summary: a study on a ten year-old joe bennet between his rescue to meeting his soulmate





	calm before the storm/boy after the war

**Author's Note:**

> my first wolfsong fic and the third fic overall?? we need more content yo

when he was ten years old, joe bennet had known war.

 

war was fighting until you dropped, war was fighting for a cause, war was hurt and pain and bloodshed. war was a rally, a riot for change.

 

war was forgetting everything you once held dear, war was sacrifice and loss, war was torture for the sake of it. war was pointless.

 

he didn’t remember what happened in the middle, between passing out from pain (humans had a limit, before the pain made their bodies shut down, and wolves could take _so much pain_ ) and waking up in his mother’s arms.

 

she was bawling, tears of sadness and loss and joy. this was what coming back from war was, acknowledging that the same person you once were will never be you again. her darling son now had battle scars, wounds that bore so deep into his bones and into his heart that they’d surely never heal. he wasn’t the idealistic child he once was, chasing the tails of his older brothers and calling her into his room to tuck him in and check for monsters every night.

 

she said, _“I will never let anything hurt you.”_

she said, _“I will always be here to protect you.”_

she said, _“there are no monsters here.”_

 

she lied.

 

carter and kelly, the twins, his brothers, couldn’t form words around their anguish. they were _blueblueblue_ like they’d never been before, like an ocean storm that they were sure to drown in. joe of before would let them tell him stories, would let them tell him that there were monsters hiding under the stairs and unless he did his brother’s chores they would grab him and pull him under. he let them convince him that hide and seek was for babies and _we’re fourteen now, we’re not kids anymore_.

 

he was barely ten years old, barely anything, but he was no more a child than his father who carried the pack, than his uncle who never seemed whole, than his mother who knew everything and anything.

 

he knew war.

 

his father, too. he was a soldier, a general, the commander in chief. he was ares himself, the stench of blood covering his body and seeping into his very core.

 

_joe, joejoejoejoejoejoejoe. are you okayalivebreathing. are you hereawakewithme. we need to get you outawaysafehome._

 

joe could barely move, could barely feel anything but the blood on his skin and the pressure on his lungs and his foot which was pointed at a rather funny angle but it wasn’t really funny because it _hurt and he couldn’t move it and it happened because he tried to run and_ we can’t have that can we? _And—_

 

he didn’t say anything, but he let his father’s nose touch his forehead from where his mother was holding him and

 

_oh_

 

he’d never be _alright_ , he’d never be _safe_ , and he’d never be _home._

 

home was his family, home was something he shouldn’t have to fear.

 

_they asked me to do it, you know? they wanted you hurt, they wanted me to hurt you, they don’t want you back, you’re mine now, no one’s looking for you, you’re mine mine mineminemine._

 

he feared them plenty, it wasn’t his home.

 

mark never pushed, always let him have his distance. joe didn’t speak, but mark never needed him to. they would sit there in silence, joe just breathing and relishing in the fact that he was free to breathe however he wanted and not try to act like he was _sleeping_ because if he was _awake_ then _—_

 

sometimes mark would talk, but never with need for a reply.

 

he said, “ _once I met a boy and he was every color_.”

he said, _“your father used to stumble on every word he said to your mom, had cue cards written up and_ still _couldn’t get it right.”_

he said, _“she loved him anyway.”_

he said, _“she loves you most of all.”_

he said, _“you are the future of this pack, you are my family, and I will follow you.”_

he said, _“you know more than a ten year old ever really ought to, and I’m sorry.”_

he said, _“you’re stronger than anyone I know.”_

 

he said nothing when joe cried in his arms, just whispered reassurances and soothing sounds, just the warm comfort of hands and arms holding him close.

 

he didn’t fear them, but it still wasn’t home.

 

mark left to go back to Green Creek and make sure it was safe, to make sure no one had tried to take over their lands while they’d been away.

 

 _away_ was such a simple word for hunting for their lost child, for going days without sleep, for crying until they had no tears left.

 

the move was rough, he couldn’t sleep in a car and he couldn’t sleep in a hotel and he could barely even sleep in his own bed. everyone stayed up at night, no one dared leave him to face his nightmares alone.

 

the old house was just as they’d left it and joe wanted to scream.

 

so many things had changed. he no longer liked the blue ranger best, even though the posters lined the walls of his bedroom. he no longer had any interest in toys or board games. it was too colorful and too carefree. he knew better now.

 

he couldn’t stand the naïveté of who _joefrombefore_ was. _joefrombefore_ wasn’t him and would never be again. he couldn’t just erase the memories of blood and pain and become the Berret’s darling youngest son again.

 

he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t bear the pencil marks on the wall to mark his growth or the finger paintings hung on the fridge or the strategically placed painting to hide a hole in the wall formed by ill-attempted cartwheels and covered by lumpy plaster, so he went outside.

 

outside was less familiar but almost more oppressive, for this was the _Bennet_ house and it was _Bennet_ land and here was movers and truck drivers and workers carrying in boxes and none of them were recognizable by scent, all of them too much for his brain to process.

 

he ran even farther. all he could do was run away.

 

their driveway was almost ridiculously long, and he ran to the very end and then some. his skin was crawling and his body was too small for his brain and he couldn’t do this it was too much and he needed to _runrunrun_ needed to _burnitallawaywhyisntitleavingwhyisntit._

 

His sky was full of clouds and humidity and it was way too hot and he _couldn’t breathe_ he was _drowning_.

 

and then came the wind.

 

it smelled like candy canes and pine cones, like _green_ and like _summer_ and _happy._

it was _awesome._

 

he opened his mouth and spoke, words that were uncontrollable in their disuse rushing to meet the boy before him, the boy who smelled like _home_.

 

joseph bennet knew war, but he knew more than anything that this boy meant salvation.

  


**Author's Note:**

> i finished wolfsong This Morning and had the fic done like an hour later so if anything's off pls tell me so i can fix it. thx for reading!!


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